


Path Unlocked

by pokey_jr



Series: Only Sequences Change [7]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokey_jr/pseuds/pokey_jr
Summary: Concern crosses his face, his eyebrows raise by a degree. “...but your rectum and anal cavity were not designed for such uses.”It’s your turn to look quizzically at him, for once. “Were you designed to like fucking me?”“Well, no. My program wasn’t intended for any sort of sexual activity, though I have the requisite systems.”**Connor is always learning.





	Path Unlocked

“I see.” Connor says. “And you derive pleasure from this?”

You take another sip of your wine, set it on the end table and rub his thigh. That’s more for you than him, though you notice him shift subtly, and his hand goes to his tie.

How to explain to an android the appeal of anal sex? You’ve been trying for about half an hour, to no avail. And this isn’t even the first time you had mentioned it.

_Happy to oblige_ , he’d said once, and you’d never heard anyone sound so earnest about it.

But how to tell him it’s not just the physical sensation, it’s the taboo. Well, maybe exactly like that. No guarantee that he’ll get it, but you’ve found that directness works best with Connor.

“Yeah. It’s— well it’s hard to explain no matter what. Not everyone likes it but there’s the physical aspect, like it just feels really good. You know, having a nice fat dick push into your ass, so slowly you think you’re going to cum just from that feeling of being split apart.”

Concern crosses his face, his eyebrows raise by a degree. “...but your rectum and anal cavity were not designed for such uses.”  
It’s your turn to look quizzically at him, for once. “Were you designed to like fucking me?”

“Well, no. My program wasn’t intended for any sort of sexual activity, though I have the requisite systems.”

You raise one eyebrow, see his LED spin to yellow. He could do this. He absolutely could, and your pulse quickens in anticipation at the thought of him studying the minute details of your expression the first time he starts to fuck your ass open. _And…?_

“But I do enjoy it.”

_Path unlocked._

Momentarily, you’ve retreated to the bedroom. Connor undresses because you tell him to, don’t want him getting lube stains on that nice jacket. He runs his hand through his hair, something you’ve never seen him do before, and it’s fucking _hot_ the way he’s watching you. Absently unknotting his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, all the while transfixed by the spectacle you present: you, lying on your side, preparing yourself for him. 

After grabbing a small bottle of lube from the nightstand, you’d put a towel down and stripped. Now you’re slowly rubbing your clit, making sure he can see everything you’re doing. He’ll catalog all of it, store it in memory banks, crisp and accessible.

You wonder, as you work one lubed finger into your ass, if he’s ever accessed information he has stored about you while alone. If his digital memory associates you with sex more than policework. 

A second finger, scissoring them. It’s part of his program now, he’s learned how to pleasure you. And he likes it.

He sits on the bed next to you, palms his cock through his jeans, though the button and fly are undone. In the time you’ve known him, he’s picked up mannerisms that make him seem a little less stiff. A little more natural. You think it’s because he’s started to let his curiosity guide him, rather than dronelike adherence to a mission.

Still. He isn’t human. Even his by-design imperfections make him too handsome. His sculpted build, his intense, searching gaze, his LED blue, but spinning, as he processes all facets of this new experience. You remove your fingers, intending to tell him what to do next, but he adjusts, opening your legs— “may I?”—and settles between them, burying his face in your cunt.

_Oh, fuck._ He’s going to take you apart before you have a chance for anything more.

It’s your fault, maybe, for reminding him about things he enjoys. That he has the agency and free will to do that, and he happens to love—

He swirls his tongue around your clit.

\--pleasuring you. Hearing you whimper, tasting you, experiencing your reactions via the wealth of data available to him from his sensors. He laps at the sensitive flesh, each flick of his tongue sending a searing pulse through you.

“Connor, please… please, I’m gonna cum too soon, I want—“ You break off, lifting your hips despite your plea, his mouth on your cunt is hot, exquisite, he really has no business being so good at this.

He denies you, raises his head, tilts it in that familiar way. His tone is pleasantly teasing. “What is it?”

You glare at him. He only gives you a wry smile, and sits back on his heels, shoves his jeans further down and pulls out his cock and balls.

“Would you hold your knees?” He asks, and you’re already there, spreading yourself for him. He observes you carefully. From the time he finds the right position, aligns the blunt head of cock to your ass, to the moment he pushes in, breaches that tight ring of muscle. Slowly, gingerly. As if he’s afraid of hurting you.

You hiss at the sting; he pauses, searching. “Connor, fuck, don’t-- don’t stop, you’re not gonna break me.”

“Alright.”

And he moves, still careful, each stroke in and out a little easier, a little deeper, filling you and stretching you, leaving your cunt empty and slick and aching. You moan when you feel his balls press against your ass, his entire thick length seated in you. 

Connor is hard to read at first. You keep looking for typical human indicators, like a slight pout, or a blush, or eye rolling judgment. He does none of those, but the more time you spend around him, the more you realize he _does_ have tells. His LED, for one. His hands, fidgeting with a spare quarter.

And now, the way his lips part slightly when he’s fucking you and he can’t look away, fascinated. 

His measured self-control is more than you can resist. You roll your hips, urge him to move.

Let one of your knees go, reach your hand down and rub your clit in lazy circles. Dip two fingers in your slick cunt. “Feel that?” You ask him, knowing he can.

He nods, seems on the verge of saying something but his breath catches. He falls to one elbow, bracing himself, cradling your head as he rocks into you. Quiet grunts betray his mounting desperation. His LED spins to yellow, approaching sensory input capacity overload. His normally neat hair is messy, falls in his eyes, you feel how soft it is, brushing your cheek as he presses his face to the  
crook of your neck. Kissing you there gentle and sweet.

Your desire rises, gradual, languid, yet inevitable, like a storm on the horizon. “Harder,” you implore him. “Fuck me harder, Connor.”

He raises his head once more, his body arched over yours. His cheeks are tinged blue, rather than pink, not bothering to mimic a human blush.

The lines between your need and his blur, his restraint lapsing to an unrelenting pace. Shifting, he pins your knee to your shoulder,  
starts to fuck you open, deliberate and deep, his gasps mingling with the obscene _pat_ of flesh on flesh.

“Ohhh fuck…” you press your palm to your clit, moan to him how much you love his big cock in your ass, how goddamn good he feels.

Praise like that shouldn’t matter to him, but he chokes out a low, delicious sound all the same, warns you of imminent system overload. 

“Connor,” you plead, clenching around his thick length. Repeat his name, even as your desire builds to a singular, vibrant point. And then it’s spiraling out, collapsing in a spectacular burst of pleasure centered on him. Every synapse firing, wave after intense wave and he’s there too, with a helpless groan, watches you as long as he can before succumbing. Pounding you, rougher than he’s ever dared before. He clings to you, his fingers tangle in your hair, and he slows as he cums, slicker, gentle again, caressing you as you ride out your climax.

You wince as he pulls out. Sated and oversensitized.

He’s not winded. His chest does not rise and fall. You have to catch your breath and he doesn’t, and it’s a bit unnerving. He brings you tissues to clean up, and sits beside you quietly. The silence lures you into thinking maybe he hadn’t really understood after all, that he was just humoring you, but then you catch him running a hand through his hair.

“I think I understand the appeal,” he tells you. The corner of his mouth quirks in a soft smile. “Enjoyment in doing something you’re not supposed to enjoy. Kind of like… Deviancy.”


End file.
